


Capeless Superman

by Fizz (marvels_ninja)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Era, crutchie says fuck, cursing, if you wanna interpret as jackcrutch then like, not crutchie, race in the refuge au, thats fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvels_ninja/pseuds/Fizz
Summary: takes place right after the (failed) rally.crutchie confronts jack, and it isn’t pretty.
Relationships: Jack Kelly and Crutchie Morris
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Capeless Superman

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT to note that race is in the refuge in this, not crutchie. i posted on tumblr a while back and some people were confused so now im. yelling it everywhere heh  
> anyway I hope y’all enjoy :)

The street was finally empty; all the newsies practically vanished out of Medda’s theater. No one looked happy, of course. The whole rally had been a sham. Jack had caved, Jack had sold them out, Jack was a sellout, he was...

Jack was a _sellout_.  


Crutchie tried to block out his anger and replace it with confusion, limping alone down the street he saw Jack turn onto. The burning question of ‘ _why_ ’ felt seared into his heart, its imprint scalding as a cigar butt. Even if Jack told him why he had caved for the money, there was no way Crutchie could ever bring himself to understand it. It just didn’t make sense. That wasn’t Jack.

And he  _ knew _ Jack.

Jack was the one who gave every hand-me-down he could find to any kid with a hole in their shirt or pants. Jack passed around food from the nuns to the rest of the kids, a big grin on his face in the morning even though Crutch knew he hadn’t slept a minute the night before or was getting any food for himself. He’d fight anyone who roughed up one of his kids—he had, Crutchie reminded himself, only the day before; it was only a day before—even if he was one of the actual worst fighters Crutchie had ever seen.

Jack wasn’t any of the words Spot Conlon had called Jack as he had run the theater, screaming after him those terrible things. That Jack was a coward, and weak and useless, and a traitor—how could Jack Kelly be a traitor? How could  _ Jack Kelly _ be a  _ traitor _ ?

…Was he?

Crutchie gripped his crutch much harder as the thought entered his head. That couldn’t be it. Yes, Crutchie knew, the Santa Fe prospect was often mentioned between the two of them…and maybe the money would cover it…but that had been just a dream, right? Every newsie had their own Santa Fe in a way. Finch wanted to be a pitcher one day. Mush wanted to be a real doctor. Henry wanted to make his father’s restaurant into a chain all across the country. It wasn’t any different. Couldn’t be.

Crutch saw the flash of a shadow ahead of him, and without thinking, called out to it.

“You gotta tell me, Jack, right _fuckin_ ’ now,” Crutchie cried up the block, watching Jack freeze. After a few hesitant moments, Jack retraced his steps, facing Crutchie with tired eyes.

“Tell you what?” Jack muttered, though it sounded rehearsed. 

Crutchie stared harder. “That it didn’t mean nothin’. That you ain’t cavin’, not for just some money—“

“It’s not just ‘some money’, Crutch,” Jack interjected, gaze wandering anywhere but Crutchie’s. “It’s…enough.”

Crutchie took an involuntary step back. What was Jack saying? “You’re not leavin’. You’re just  _ not _ , Jack, that money’s too dirty. It-” Crutchie bit his lip, but continued his words even more sure. “That money pays to keep places like the Refuge in business. It pays to keep where Race is hurtin’ in  _ business _ ,” he choked out.

Racetrack had been dragged to the Refuge just the other day. Actually dragged, too, Crutchie had glimpsed it briefly; Race was out cold thanks to Oscar and lugged into the wagon like he weighed nothing. Like he was nothing.

Jack couldn’t think Race was nothing all of a sudden.

“Crutchie,” Jack whispered, his eyes never leaving the ground. “You know better than anyone that I _gotta_ get outta here.”

“No,” Crutchie croaked. “This ain’t you. You always think about us first—we always think of each other _first_.”

“Crutch, I can’t, I—“

“Yes you can!” Crutchie blurted, unintentional emotion trembling in his voice. “Why wouldn’t you. We’re all _here_ , Jack. We ain’t out there. This’s your family, why,  _ why… _ ”

Crutchie scrubbed his eye, looking up at Jack with a small glimmer of hope. There had to be a why, even if he couldn’t figure it himself. Jack always had a reason, if not always a plan. He was an artist; he was full of passion. And though that passion branched into many different areas, Crutchie knew that his newsies were at the heart of it. They had to be. They were all Jack had. They were all any one of them had. At least a third of them would probably be dead without the lodge—Crutchie knew he probably would; he accepted that a long time ago. He was a fighter, sure, but some things were just out of his control.

But Jack was in control. At least, he could have been in control, easily. And yet decided not to, instead turning on his brothers. 

“Why?” Jack scoffed. “ _Why_? ‘Cause I don’t want any of yous ending up like Racer! I don’t want any more asses beaten so hard into the ground that we’s gotta peel ourselves off’a it! Crutchie, I can’t watch that. I can’t let any ‘a you get...I can’t let you _die_ over this.”

Confusion burned in the back of Crutchie’s throat. “Like we wouldn’t die of starvin’ on the streets with these prices so damn high or somethin’?” he found himself blurting. “We already got all five boroughs on our side, Jack, a city-wide strike could end it, and…”

“No it _wouldn’t_ ,” Jack said forcefully. “Pulitzer don’t give a shit about us, Crutch, he’d keep those prices until we can’t take beatings no more. He thinks this is a war, and he ain’t plannin’ on losin’.”

Something about that struck Crutchie as a little personal. “How...how long didja talk to him?” he asked slowly.

Jack hung his head. “Ain’t gonna lie; it was a while.”

Crutchie stumbled back, incredulous. 

“Jack, w-what’d he  _ do _ to you?”

Jack took a step towards Crutchie, who chose to move back yet again. This wasn’t his Jack. “We just talked, Crutchie,” Jack muttered. “‘S all.”

“It ain’t,” Crutchie could’ve laughed in disbelief. After all this time, Jack still thought Crutchie couldn’t see through him. “It wasn’t just a talk. You’re lyin’, to me, oh my god. I…” Crutchie shook his head, mouth slightly agape.

Jack Kelly  _ was _ a traitor. The boy who had never once lied to his face was standing a foot away from him on a street corner in the dark with the guiltiest expression he’d ever seen.

“ _ Crutchie _ .” Jack was pleading now. What kind of topsy-turvy nightmare was Crutchie living in? “Please. I’m sorry, you gotta know that, but I had to. I had to. I had to do it.”

“No you didn’t,” Crutchie scoffed, a faint ironic smile on his face. This was unbelievable. “No you fucking didn’t. Coulda rejected the money right in front ‘a Spot, shown ‘em all you were on the right side—“

“I’m _on_ your side, Crutch, c’mon—“

“—and instead you cave. Caved for those fuckin’ monsters at the top.” Crutchie wrinkled his nose slightly. “Jack, I wanna trust ya, but that’s dirty, you know that.”

The look on Jack’s face made Crutchie’s heart sink, but he willed his expression to stay strong. Jack couldn’t see how much this was rotting his insides with betrayal, Crutchie wouldn’t let him.

“I’m so sorry, Crutchie,” Jack choked.

“But you ain’t, I mean,” Crutchie let out a bitter laugh, “that wad ‘a cash must feel pretty great in you pocket.” Crutchie’s skin was beginning to crawl just talking to Jack and hearing him flat-out lie to him. He had to get out. He couldn’t hide his breakdown for long, and he couldn’t let Jack see that. Especially after the night’s events. “You were my hero, Jacko.” His own voice was too devoid of emotion; it scared him.

“If you’d just lemme explain, Crutch, I swear you’d understand,” Jack sounded too desperate, it couldn’t be real. “ _Please_ , Charlie.”

“Go get your Santa Fe, Jack,” Crutchie muttered, acquiescing to the reality of Jack’s new personality. He could practically see the strings attached to Jack’s limbs. “We’ll still all be waitin’ here with ours.”

With that, Crutchie adjusted his crutch and turned around, heading back to the lodge, trying to block out Jack’s desperate calls after him, pleading with him to stay, to believe him, to trust him. But Crutchie had to start forcing himself to face the truth.

How could he trust a traitor like Jack Kelly after what he’d done to them?


End file.
